


Belied by False Compare

by xaritomene



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: (guaranteed), (still a happy ending despite that last tag), (such as you find in most omegaverse fics), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, James is emotionally stunted, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, and Robbie is deeply confused, but I'm pretty sure it will all work out in the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is absolutely no way James Hathaway is an omega.</p><p>Unless he is.</p><p>(Or: in which James has a secret and Robbie finds out about it, because James is actually surprisingly bad at keeping secrets from his boss - and all events do conspire against him, the poor lamb.)</p><p>(Dub-Con does not apply to the Hathaway/Lewis relationship, but James doesn't always make healthy choices as regards himself. It's not dealt with directly until later chapters. The Child Abuse/Non-Con tags are for Crevecoeur, but only involve James peripherally.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end of the chapter for notes on my omegaverse - and be gentle! This is my first fic in this fandom, so please forgive any drastic OOC-ness. Thanks!
> 
> Title, of course, is from Shakespeare's Sonnet 130.

Hathaway took “personal days” every three months, and was off for a week. Robbie knew that, like he knew most other things about his sergeant, but it was starting to drive him mental that he didn’t know _why_.

He’d tried asking James, but the lad was skilled in answering a question without actually saying anything; all he really knew was that it was for James’ health, and that could mean anything. He did at least trust that James would tell him if it was cancer or a life-threatening illness, and there was nothing on his file to suggest possible leads. Not that Robbie wanted to go prying round in James’ private life – he’d like James to tell him himself, but it didn’t look like that would be happening any time soon, and when he wanted to, James kept his secrets like it was his job. According to both his file and James himself, there was nothing to hide: he was James Hathaway, police sergeant, male beta, Cambridge rower, Theology first, failed priest. Unless it was some sort of Catholic retreat – and Robbie had considered it, but his inexpert internet searches hadn’t picked anything up which tallied or would be convenient for James – there was no reasonable explanation for these disappearances.

James came back to work within the week, the usual pristine Sergeant Hathaway, entirely correct and composedly formal, nary a hint of wrong-doing and less than a flicker of an explanation. His performance at work never suffered, but during that week, he couldn’t even be dragged back into work by a murder, and it was doing Robbie’s head in; he _hated_ having to deal with a case without James.

“You’re gonna be off next week, then?” he directed at his sergeant, glancing down at next Monday in his calendar – ringed in red to indicate a Hathaway-Free Week. 

James nodded without looking up. “Yes, sir,” he said simply, still focused on his report.

“Every three months, like clockwork, Sergeant Hathaway takes leave,” Robbie said, leaning back with a sigh.

James glanced up, frowning. “Yes, sir,” he said slowly. “How did you know?”

“Give over, lad,” Robbie frowned at him, “I’m not daft. Like I said, you’re as regular as clockwork, and I’m a copper, I see patterns when they’re there. And this one’s been hanging around ever since you’ve been working with me.”

“Must’ve taken you at least six months to work it out,” James said, looking back at his computer with the glimmer of a smile.

“That’s not the point,” Robbie told him, drawing his sergeant’s glance again.

“What is the point then, sir?” James returned, meeting his boss’s eyes for a bare second before looking back to his screen. “I’m off next week. I put in my application for leave, Innocent approved it, you knew about it. I don’t see a problem.”

“No problem,” Robbie covered himself, though it sounded weak even to him. “Just – interested, s’all. Got anything nice planned?”

“Taking care of a few things,” James said absently, leafing through some hand-written sheets next to him for the next part of his report. “A friend’s coming round.”

First Robbie had heard of any friend. “Oh?” he said, trying to match James’s casual tone and failing dismally. “In town long?”

“Just the week,” James nodded.

“Not from round here, then,” Robbie said, satisfied to have got at least that much out of his enigmatic sergeant.

“Lives in London, sir,” James said, and it didn’t escape Robbie’s attention that James avoided telling him either how long the friend was staying, or what gender the friend was. Was that what was behind all this? A lover? But why draw attention to it by taking this time off, so regularly? It didn’t make sense.

Then again, not much about this made sense, Robbie thought, sighing and turning back to his computer, the cursor blinking at him accusingly on his own half finished report.

“It’s your business, lad, but whatever it is, I’d be less obvious about it if I were you,” he said simply, and James nodded.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” he said, and that was that.

**

That was that until they got a call early Saturday morning – a body had been found out in the woods by Harcourt Hill, and Lewis and Hathaway had been assigned.

“Ma’am,” Robbie said, dragging a hand over his face and valiantly trying to wake himself up, “you know you’ll need to assign someone else as me sergeant. Hathaway’s got this coming week off.”

“His leave doesn’t start until Monday,” Innocent said briskly, her voice a little muffled by whatever was going on the other end. “He can help you out until Monday morning, you know you two both do your best work together. You can bounce ideas off each other until then, and you can go from there with Balfort from then on.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll call Hathaway and we’ll be there.”

He rang off and heaved himself out of bed with a sheer effort of will, keying Hathaway’s number in as he headed to the kitchen to turn the kettle on. If he had to be up at four on a Saturday morning, there was going to have to be tea. “James?” he said, the minute the line connected to a sleepy, puzzled half-beat of silence, before James’ befuddled greeting. “There’s a body.”

“Just what I like to hear at – four am,” James muttered. “Why doesn’t anyone get murdered at midday?” Robbie had to laugh.

“If you weren’t half-asleep, you could give me the answer to that. With references. It’s out by Harcourt Hill, I’m being sent the coordinates to me phone. Shall I pick you up on the way?”

“Sir...” James trailed off. “Don’t – I mean, I know – I’m on leave.”

“Not till Monday you’re not, Sergeant,” Robbie said, inexplicably irritated. “If your ‘friend’s’ arrived, he’ll have to wait for your company till then.”

“I- yes, sir. If you could pick me up-”

“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” Robbie said, and hung up. He’d been too brusque, he knew – the boy had every right to want his leave, whatever his reasons were, but he had to have known this was one of their on-call weekends. Didn’t he?

He thought about it for a minute, then could have kicked himself – of course James hadn’t known. It’d been a last minute swap with Peterson, and James had left by the time the switch was made – Robbie had been going to text him the bad news, but between one thing and another, had never managed to do it. _Damn_.

**

James was as correct as ever, though, when Robbie appeared on his doorstep, armed with an apologetic expression and instant coffee in a thermos. The apologetic expression, though, disappeared as Robbie caught James’ scent; there was definitely something off there, under James’ normal mix of run-of-the-mill beta and shower gel. Something almost – “bloody hell, James, is your friend an _omega_ >?!” Robbie asked, which was _not_ how he’d meant to start this conversation.

James shifted a little, a flush rising to his cheeks. His voice, however, was even when he spoke. “No, sir,” he said calmly. “Some poor kid went into her first heat in the pub, and I’m in the same clothes. You know how the smell lingers.”

“Can’t say I do, lad. Never came up against many omegas, in the flesh, like. Only in the line of duty, and even then, it’s rare,” Robbie said, and remembered his initial errand as they headed to the car. “Look, I’m sorry – I should’ve told you we were on call – we had to swap last-minute, Peterson’s mate went into labour last night.”

“I didn’t know Peterson was mated,” James said, accepting the coffee and the apology with a rare smile. 

“Nice lass,” Lewis said, reversing out of his space, more than half of his attention on the road. “Used to work at the station. They keep it quiet cos it turned out _she’s_ an omega, and you know how people lose their heads over ‘em.”

“Yeah,” James agreed quietly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Even the most normal bloke just goes arse over tit whenever they come across the poor beggars, keeping ’em cooped up and cosseted, like you read about. Them millionaires and their omega partners, kept away from everything that makes life worth living, eh?” He was hardly concentrating on what he was saying, more focused on driving than James’ reactions, but even out of the corner of his eye, he could see James close his.

“Seems like it, sir,” James agreed quietly.

Lewis glanced at him. “But I really am sorry, I should have texted you at the time. Shouldn’t have gone off on you on the phone earlier, you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I know people think I’m shirking my duty, taking leave so often,” James said, eyes fixed on his coffee. “You’ve always been good about it, sir. And if I wanted this weekend off too, I should have said. But – you know how it is.”

“Not really, lad,” Robbie said easily. “You’ve never said, and I don’t want to pry.”

He’d thought James might open up a little at that, but all he got in reply was a nod, and a muttered, “thank you.”

They finished the drive to Harcourt Hill in silence.

**

The body was twenty-four year old Elizabeth Malden, alpha, secondary school teacher. According to Hobson, she’d been dead for six hours, and her body had been moved – likely cause of death, a blow to the back of the head, with something sharp. 

“Anything more, Laura?” Robbie asked, and she shook her head. 

“Not until I can examine her more closely, and in better light,” she said. “But she had her handbag with her, and there was money in her purse, so you can probably be sure she wasn’t killed in a mugging gone bad.”

“A mugger wouldn’t have bothered to move the body either,” Robbie said thoughtfully, staring at poor Elizabeth as she was finally moved from where she’d been found and loaded into the back of an ambulance. “James, any ideas?”

“She’s dressed for a night out,” James pointed out. “Night of fun gone bad?”

Laura was looking at him, a little askance. “Taken to hanging out with omegas, James?” she said, making a show of scenting the air, and James smiled, that same flush appearing again.

“Only inadvertently, doctor,” he said, and Robbie took over, keen to get the conversation back on track.

“We’ll get back to the station, pull her records, see where she’s living and who with, if anyone,” he said, and Laura nodded.

“I should have the report to you in the next few hours,” she said, looking over at the ambulance. “Apparently I have nothing better to do with my Saturday nights.”

“Thanks, Laura,” he said after her, as she made her way back to her car. “James, can you find out who found her?”

“Already done, sir,” James said, ever the consummate professional. “A couple of kids, out in the woods for, if I’ve read it right, some fun before they went to home.”

“Both overage, I hope?” Robbie said, sincere in his hope. The last thing he wanted to have to do, on top of an already shitty night, was give two kids a talk about safe sex.

“Overage for the sex I’m willing to bet they were planning on having,” James said, flushing again – daft sod, getting embarrassed about teenagers being randy little buggers. “Not for the lagers they’d brought with ’em. We let them off with a mild caution, considering they had enough of a sense of civic duty to call the police rather than run off. Uniform took them back to the station, and they’ll have given their statements by the time we get back.”

“No chance they did it and are covering their tracks? They weren’t at her school, or anything like that?”

“Haven’t had the chance to check, sir, and I didn’t meet them. All I can say is, I hope not.”

“You and me both, lad,” Robbie sighed, and turned on his heel. “We’d best be getting back to the station, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

**

They spend the rest of the early morning briefing themselves on the details of Elizabeth Malden’s life, including checking her facebook account. The two kids who found her are, mercifully, clear – they go to a different school and are mostly traumatised at having found a body. They clearly had never met Elizabeth Malden, and have alibis up to an hour or so before they found her, when they sneaked away from the party they’d been at to the woods, which means there’s no way they killed Elizabeth Malden six hours before they “found” her. 

That’s the only good news. Elizabeth was mated to a beta woman, had been for the last year and a half, and judging by her facebook wall, is close to her brother and sister too. Telling the family is the worst bit, and Robbie’s not willing to face it alone, particularly since this family seems so close.

Her parents live in London, but her sister lives on Norham Road, which makes Robbie raise his eyebrows. “She’s done well for herself,” he commented lightly, and James nodded, but his expression was a little tense.

“Omega,” he said bluntly, pointing at her records.

“Ah,” Robbie said meaninglessly, thinking furiously. Omegas married up – it was just what happened. They commanded the attention of the wealthy and the powerful effortlessly; barely five percent of the population of Britain were omegas – which was, globally, a surprisingly high number – and there were few alphas or betas who got a look in when their better-off counterparts started sniffing around. A lot of omegas didn’t buy into it, of course – Elizabeth Malden’s sister, Rebecca, was positively wasting herself on an alpha or beta who couldn’t keep her in a much more luxurious place than Norham Road, and Peterson wasn’t going to be keeping his mate in the lap of luxury any time soon – but it was still largely true that to the wealthy went the spoils.

So Elizabeth Malden’s sister had married up because she was an omega, but kept in close contact with her science-teacher sister. Could Elizabeth have got in the way of someone after her sister? If they were close, and regularly spent time together, there was a chance that Elizabeth might have been trying to protect her sister when she was killed. Not everyone took the fact that an omega was mated to be the end of the line, and some alphas and betas were just plain desperate – there was a reason that Peterson’s mating had been kept quiet, after all, and why his mate had hidden it from the majority of the Force. And like he said to James – some people just went nutty over omegas.

Speaking of James, the lad was squirming in his seat, a flush riding high on his cheekbones. “You alright there, Sergeant?” he asked, a little concerned.

“Fine, thank you,” James said, correct as ever but strained. “I think something I ate disagreed with me. Excuse me?”

Robbie nodded, staring after his sergeant as the boy headed for the loos. The omega smell – which should have dissipated the longer Hathaway wore his clothes and interacted with other people –didn’t seem to be fading away. But his sergeant, his James? Never in a million years. If James Hathaway had been an omega, it would have been on his file, and even if Innocent had agreed to cover it up, she’d have told Lewis.

Then again, maybe Innocent didn’t know. The force wasn’t keen on taking omegas – equality laws said they had to, but no one wanted the headlines that would inevitably come if an omega was injured or killed in the line of duty. Maybe James had hidden it since – well, since before joining the force?

Robbie gave himself a good shake, and focused on Elizabeth Malden’s records again. James Hathaway wasn’t an omega. If he had been, that smart and that pretty, he’d have been snapped up years ago. He wouldn’t have made it to the Force at all.

He owed it to Elizabeth to focus on her death, in any case, not on the way his sergeant smelt of some strange omega. He’d have to get in touch with New Scotland Yard and get someone to inform Mr and Mrs Malden of their youngest daughter’s death. He was glad to be escaping that, at least – but he still had to inform Mrs – he checked – Mrs McCauley of her sister’s death. The eldest, the boy, was in the Navy, a beta, Captain Thomas Malden; he’d have to be informed too, but that, thankfully, would not be Lewis’ job.

When James returned, though, informing the sister was going to be both of their job. At least he’d have James with him, and at least there was family living in the city; they wouldn’t have to go trawling round for friends to get information, particularly if the sisters were close.

It was a reasonably enough hour, by now – they could call on Mrs. McCauley and break the news.

 

**

And when James came back, a few minutes later, Robbie’s suspicion on one count was put to rest, at least – James’ normal beta scent was starting to reassert itself. The omega smell was there still, faintly, but not overly in evidence, and it suddenly hit him – all that bollocks about ‘bumping into’ an omega, James’ regular-as-clock-work leave: _James_ wasn’t an omega, but he had a partner who was. 

Despite the job facing them, Robbie smiled slightly. It was nice to solve at least one mystery.

“Everything alright, sir?” James asked, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised, and Robbie nodded.

“Aye, but we’ve got to inform this poor girl of her sister’s death, so I doubt it’ll stay that way. C’mon, let’s get to it.”

**

Rebecca McCauley, née Malden, was a pretty, petite young woman whose scent was enough to drive any alpha or beta distracted, even though it was heavily mingled with a mate-scent. Robbie’s job had long since taught him to be immune to that, though, so instead of panting over the poor woman like a rare steak, he took a deep breath and said quietly, “Mrs. McCauley, I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news for you. May we come in?”

Inside, the large, detached house was beautiful, expertly renovated, and in Robbie’s inexpert opinion, more than a little unwelcoming. The kitchen was a different matter – bright and airy and homey. Rebecca sat them down at the table – still in her pyjamas and dressing gown, bless her – and offered them tea or coffee, which they both declined.

“What is it?” she asked, large eyes glancing between them fearfully. “It’s not Tom, is it?”

“No, ma’am,” Lewis said gently. “I’m afraid it’s your sister, Elizabeth. She died last night.”

“Died?” Rebecca almost stuttered over the word. “Was – I mean. Was she – killed?”

“We’ve reason to believe so, yes,” Robbie said, ignoring Hathaway, who was, again, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “Believe me, ma’am, we’re very sorry for your loss, but I have to ask: is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to hurt your sister?”

“Hurt Lizzie? No,” Rebecca shook her head to emphasise her point. “No, she was – I mean, she was so sweet. All the children at her school liked her, and Maria – her partner – they adored each other. Lizzie loved taking care of people, and she was so good at it, I – are you _sure_ she was killed?”

“Pretty sure, I’m afraid to say.” Lewis paused, and glanced at Hathaway once. “I don’t suppose you’ve been in any danger recently? You’ve not noticed anyone hanging around your house, or following you anywhere?”

“No?” Rebecca said slowly, frowning in confusion. “No, nothing like that. Why? Do you think Lizzie was killed protecting _me_?” Something that looks a little like heartbreak fills her big blue eyes.

“It’s a routine question, ma’am, when the deceased has omega relatives,” Lewis said and Hathaway took over, having apparently got control of whatever was wrong with him.

“I suppose Maria would be the first person she’d tell, but did Elizabeth mention having any trouble at work? No rows or anything going on?”

“She rang me on Thursday in a bit of a state,” Rebecca said, biting her lip. “She and Maria had had a fight. But I _told_ her, couples _have_ these rows, it doesn’t matter how much you love someone, or how well you fit, sometimes you have fights, they just had to get through it. But Maria wouldn’t have _killed_ her, not over a little spat.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Robbie agreed soothingly. “And they were still practically newly-weds, eh? Bound to have dust-ups now and then.” He smiled at Rebecca, doing his best to exude paternal experience, and Rebecca relaxed a little. So, to his surprise, did Hathaway. “You look like you’ve been married a little while, Mrs. McCauley.”

“Five years in September,” she said, but absently and without a smile. Of course, she had just been told her sister was dead – it didn’t mean anything – but Lewis noted it out of force of habit. “I – I mean. I’m sure it’s not – but.” She paused, took a deep breath, and glanced at the kitchen door. “Lizzie and Bill – my husband – didn’t get on very well. Lizzie said he was pompous, always trying to rule the roost. But Bill hasn’t seen Lizzie for ages, three months or so. I try to keep them apart, it’s easier for everyone...” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the scrubbed wood of the tabletop. 

“I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about, Mrs. McCauley. At this stage of the enquiry, we have to ask all the routine questions.” He stood, Hathaway following suit a beat later. “We’ll be in touch. Please don’t leave the country, and tell us if there’s anything you think of which might be of use.”

They expressed the usual courtesies and made their escape, and Robbie could hear her start to cry as the door shut.

“You didn’t ask her where she was last night,” James said, and Robbie shook his head. 

“We’ll be checkin’ her movements, there’s plenty of time for that.”

“There’s plenty of time for her to be coming up with a story,” James objected, and Robbie paused, one hand on the car door-handle, looking at James across the car.

“Do you really think she did it?” he asked, and James frowned then shook his head.

“No,” he said finally, sliding into the car. “Not really. But – can you honestly tell me you didn’t ask her because she’s an omega?”

“Ah, give over. You think I don’t know omegas can be murderers too? After eighteen years on the Force? I didn’t ask her because her sister just died, and I don’t think she killed her. If I’m proved wrong, we can ask her later.”

“If we have to ask her later, she’ll say she was at home all night,” James predicted, and Robbie glanced at him, frowning. “I mean, sir, we’ll never know either way. Her husband will lie for her, won’t he? He bagged an omega,” he shifted in his seat, more than a little flushed, “and he’ll do anything to hang onto it.”

“Her, James,” Robbie said, reprovingly, and James bit his lip, turning to look out the window. “What’s up with you, anyway?” If what he suspected was true – and he was damn sure it was – James must have been desperate to get home to his own omega, but it was disturbing that he just referred to another omega as ‘it’. Perhaps a mark of scorn against people who think like that? God only knew Robbie himself hadn’t got any good vibes off Mrs. McCauley’s description of her husband. “Ants in your pants?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” James said stiffly. 

“You can’t hardly sit still,” Robbie explained, making no attempt to stifle his grin. “Look, lad, you push off home. I’ll drop you off on my way back to the station and cover for you with Innocent, say you’re coming down with summat. If you can’t concentrate, you’re no help.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robbie brushed him off. “God knows you’ve got better things to be doing, I’m not going to hold it against you. Give my regards to your ‘friend’.” He didn’t quite make air quotes around the word, but it was a near-run thing.

“Yes, sir,” James said, but wonder of wonders, there is a smile hovering round the edge of his mouth. “Thank you. You’re a life-saver.”

“It was my idea, Jim-boy, you don’t have to sweet-talk me into it,” Robbie said, but he couldn’t stop himself grinning back.

He watched as Hathaway fumbled his keys in his eagerness to get into his block of flats, and smiled. 

He had a murderer to catch, but James had a lover, a companion, maybe even a mate. That was worth a smile.

**

James leant back against his door, taking what felt like the first free breath in hours. He’d had too many near misses, and his skin felt like it was burning. The beta-scent spray fell out of his pocket as he discarded his jacket, but he didn’t care – he’d search for it when his heat was over at the end of this week. Most of the time he barely needed it – between his suppressants and his shower gel, the omega scent rarely got through, but his heats were danger zones for that. He had to wedge the gap under his door shut and make sure to keep his windows shut, or the pheromones leaked out and he found himself the recipient of some seriously unwelcome attention.

And Paul wasn’t arriving until tomorrow afternoon, so he had a day to kill while all he felt like was crawling out of his skin. And this was just the warm-up – he wasn’t desperate to be fucked yet, completely abandoned to the lust that lit a fire under his skin, but that would come in the next ten or twelve hours. For the moment, he could make do with the toys he had in readiness for the times when Paul – his long-time designated heat-buddy – wasn’t free. And thank god he had them – the plug, irritating though it was, half-arousing, half infuriatingly unsatisfactory, had at least served to stop him from ruining a perfectly good pair of suit trousers and alerting everyone else to his gender dynamic.

A beer would take the edge off it, he decided. If everything else failed, he could get himself plastered and try and forget about it until tomorrow, when he’d have someone there to help him through it.

Even if it wasn’t the person he _wanted_.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to my mind, the omegaverse is fairly uncomplicated in a modern sense, particularly for a man like Lewis, who's shown that he's pretty calm about most new-fangled modern thangs that aren't therapy. In a nutshell - you have your gender, and your gender dynamic, which is a subset of your gender. That being the case, Life Born of Fire becomes a little more complex, because what's classed as "homosexuality" becomes a little more fluid - I'm working on the baseline assumption that the Church has some problems with what it considers to be homosexual behaviour, so various sects call it whatever the hell they please - alpha/alpha relationships, m/m or f/f relationships, regardless of gender dynamics, omega/omega relationships (which is, incidentally, what my headcanon for this 'verse says the Will/Feardorcha relationship was). Also, of course, marriage/mating plays into it (I use the words pretty interchangeably for this 'verse, because of reasons, mostly laziness), when put against the issue of omegas going into heat: you don't have to be married to crave sex with an omega, and Christianity traditionally ain't too fond of that. Omegas occupy a kind of odd liminal space in the Church; they're super important because they're all ~perfect and an example of God's love for Man (giving him the perfect help meet), but once a month they're walking invitations to sin: the very definition of an Eve. It's very confusing to be a traditionalist Christian in an omegaverse. (Which is what makes James so fun! ...among other things.)
> 
> I don't know if I need to say this, but here goes: I don't intend any slurs against the Christian church. This is all fun and games. (Likewise, of course, I don't own Lewis!)
> 
> Anyway, that's a religious issue rather than a secular issue. Omegas are extremely rare (which is a pretty common trope for this - er - trope), and it's taking a while to get round the dynamic stereotyping that goes on a lot, because people want to hang on to omegas and their ideas about omegas make it easier. The omegas/women comparison isn't entirely without its merits, but this is a world in which the idea of oppression as privilege is entirely prevalent, rather than an idea only held in certain parts of society.
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm sorry. I've been writing a lot of essays recently. ¬_¬)
> 
>  
> 
> And, last point for the moment (feel free to ask about the myriad things I've forgotten!): the 'Child Abuse' tag is for Creveceour. Because I'm going to enjoy playing in that particular sandpit, like the sick, sick puppy that I am.
> 
> Last but not least, thanks to the Lewis fandom! I'm a newbie to the fandom (though not to the show, and I watched Morse as a child: I think Kevin Whately was my first childhood crush :D), so I've been enjoying all the wonderful fic out there. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For asparagusmama, who wanted it before the end of the year... so this is a little late. Sorry, and I hope you get to read it sometime soon! Happy 2013, everyone. :D (More longwinded notes at the end of the chapter...)
> 
> Also, this chapter has some real dub-con in it, about half of the way down. It begins just after the line, "Robbie was left staring at it, feeling as though his whole world had suddenly tilted sideways", and ends with the next set of two asterisks - about eleven short paragraphs long. If you need to skip it, I hope this information helps! You shouldn't miss too much.
> 
> And finally, references to sexual abuse are made in the last section of the chapter. Please read responsibly!

Robbie put all thought of James and his omega “friend” out of his mind for the next couple of days. Between the murder enquiry and fending off Innocent’s questions about James’ sudden disappearance, he didn’t have time to worry overly much about what might or might not be going on with his sergeant.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t in contact with him, though – texting James was almost second nature by now. James’ answers were sporadic and occasionally unintelligible, but that was to be expected. The only thing left which bothered Robbie about his sergeant – and he didn’t let it intrude that often – was the fact that James’ leave only happened once every three months. Omegas went into heat (if Robbie was remembering his biology lessons right) every month, and skipping heats with suppressants was ill-advised at best and dangerous at worst. It was supposed to lead to overly-intense heats, and if the hormone which triggered heats, calosterone, built up too much it could cause all sorts of side-effects.

Still, he reminded himself, whenever the question crossed his mind – that was between James and his partner and was, put bluntly, none of his bloody business. Right now, Elizabeth Malden was his business. James could wait until after Elizabeth’s case was solved.

It was always harder to concentrate on doing his job without James there – Innocent was right, they worked well together, brilliantly even. But this time, it was harder still; for some reason, Robbie felt like he was fixating on James and James’ unknown partner. Initially, he put it down to a natural interest in omegas, which hadn’t faded over the years, not even after his long and happy marriage to Val – but he couldn’t lie to himself for all that long, and finally he had to face the truth. He wasn’t jealous of James, he was jealous of James’ partner. Whatever his sergeant’s gender dynamic, he, Robbie, just automatically thought of James as his: his sergeant, his best mate... just _his_.

But there were those alpha tendencies Val had always ragged him about, he thought, gritted his teeth and threw himself into his work.

“You alright, Robbie?” Laura asked, looking askance at him over a pint at the pub Monday evening. “You’re a bit – off. Missing your better half?”

“Summat like that,” Robbie admitted, taking a pull of his beer and sitting back. “It’s weird, y’know, working without him. Not in a good way, mind, either.”

“You two,” Laura said, half-fond, half-exasperated. “Someone should look at that worrying co-dependence you’ve got going there.”

“Give over, we’re not that bad,” Robbie said, just a little uncomfortably.

“No – no, really, you are,” Laura said seriously, after a moment’s pause, giving him a long look. “I’m sorry, but you _pine_ when James isn’t around, and he mopes.” She paused, to give him a chance to speak, and when he stared down into his drink, she huffed irritably. “Alright, clearly I’m going to have to take one for the team – and by ‘team’, I mean the entire CID, incidentally – when are you going to pull yourself together and ask the boy out? I don’t know whether it’s because he’s a beta or because he’s your sergeant, but he’s not going to be casting sheep’s eyes at you forever. You’re going to lose him if you don’t watch out. If you don’t want to miss out, you need to get a move on.”

“Ah, get on, Laura,” he returned, frowning at her. “He’s not casting sheep’s eyes, and-”

“I know sheep’s eyes when I see them,” Laura interrupted calmly, and he ignored her.

“And _even if he were_ , he’s still my bagman. I couldn’t, wouldn’t be right.”

“Like Innocent would care,” Laura pointed out. “And you know it. So long as you weren't taking advantage and didn’t start having domestics in the canteen, you could shag Hathaway on his desk if you wanted to. You’re her golden boys.”

“Thought that was Peterson,” Lewis muttered, and Laura snorted a laugh.

“Not bloody likely. He likes to flaunt that he’s an alpha with an omega all over the damn shop, and you can imagine how well that goes down with Jean.”

Robbie hid a grin at that mental image, but shook his head. “I – look, I’m not sayin’ I haven’t thought it, alright? Anyone’d be lucky to have James, but I think if I ever had a shot, I missed it.”

“Oh?” Laura said, interested. “Have you been hoarding all the juicy gossip, Inspector Lewis?”

Robbie gave her a rueful grin. “I think James’s got an omega waiting for him at home.”

Laura whistled through her teeth. “Well, that _is_ juicy gossip. Are you sure?”

“’Course I’m not,” Robbie said, “s’just a hunch. But reading between the lines – the way he smelt on Saturday, how antsy he was – I think I’m on the right track. Poor boy couldn’t wait to be off.”

Laura paused, frowning a little. “Well, it wouldn’t a _first_ , precisely, but I hope for his sake you’re wrong. An omega, shacking up with a lowly police sergeant – and a beta, at that? He’s asking to get his heart broken.”

“Weren’t we just saying that anyone’d be lucky to have James?” Robbie retorted, oddly irritated by her suggestion.

“We’re all susceptible to flattery and luxury, Robbie, that’s all I’m saying,” Laura said gently. “And James can’t do either of those, can he? If he wants to hang onto this person, he’s going to be up against some pretty stiff competition, and it just seems like the odds would be severely stacked against him.”

The thought of James getting his heart broken hurt almost as much as the thought of James with someone else, so Robbie shoved it aside, and Laura let him. There were other things to talk about besides James Hathaway, after all. 

Even though sometimes it felt like Robbie couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

**

The case wasn’t precisely open/shut, but even without Hathaway’s razor-intellect, Lewis and Balfort managed to solve it by the following Wednesday. Robbie didn’t have the heart to be pleased about it – Bill McCauley had killed his mate’s sister in an attempt to stop Elizabeth help Rebecca leave him. It had been an accident – he’d never meant to _kill_ her, he said – but as Robbie snapped back, Elizabeth Malden was still dead.

In a funny way, it had been James who helped him solve the case – one of the rather garbled texts he received from James had said, “did you ask the sister where she was remember husband”, which, when Robbie thought about it, was clearly James pointing the finger at the sister, but it had led them to investigate her husband.

Both Elizabeth’s sister and her mate were understandably devastated. Robbie couldn’t even fault Rebecca for not volunteering the information about wanting to leave her mate – as far as Rebecca knew, Elizabeth hadn’t seen Bill McCauley for three months. She’d had no way of knowing the silent hate campaign her husband had been carrying out against her sister, warning her away from ‘his omega’, accusing Elizabeth of the vilest things. In the end, he confessed – he’d ambushed her on her way out for a night with some friends, to get away from the tense atmosphere in her flat – they’d argued – he had pushed her and she’d gone over in her high heels, smacking the back of her head on an iron railing. When he’d realised she was dead, he’d panicked, bundled her into his car and dropped the body by Harcourt Hill.

Stupid waste of life, Robbie thought grimly, by of a stupid, grasping man. Convinced his mate was going to leave him and had her eye on someone else, he’d made it so. Jealousy of phantoms had created the real thing – James would have a quote for it somewhere. 

Either way, Robbie was bloody sick of the whole thing – omegas and the way they were coveted and grasped at, the way they _let_ it happen. He knew, realistically, that they didn’t, and Rebecca McCauley certainly hadn’t wanted her husband to kill her sister, but if she’d been a beta, this might not have happened.

Without even really thinking about it, he’d ended up outside Hathaway’s flat, and he’d knocked before he thought better of it. If this were a normal case, he and James would have had a couple of beers, maybe more than a couple, they’d have bitched about it together, and Robbie could have laid it to rest. But James was on leave with his own partner, probably an omega, and Robbie wasn’t entirely sure whether he just wanted James out of the whole mess that seemed to just follow omegas around, or whether he wanted James for himself, but either way, even though he was interrupting and would almost certainly be unwelcome, he could regret that he was here.

But he got a shock when the door opened.

“Hi,” the alpha who opened James’ door said, giving Robbie a long glance. “Can I help?”

“I’m looking for Sergeant James Hathaway,” Robbie said, bewildered and none too happy for it, “Is he around?”

“Let me go and check.” The door shut in his face. Robbie snorted at it – the bastard had opened the door in naught but a pair of jeans after all, the tosser – then thought about it for a second. James’ flat positively _reeked_ of an omega, a particular one with a pleasant, musky undertone to his scent – but the man who’d opened James’s door had clearly been an alpha.

Which meant...

“Sir!”

James Hathaway, in the rather flushed flesh, exuding omega mating pheromones, and flushed to the roots of his hair.

Robbie took a step back, then another. It was difficult not to react to an unmated omega in heat, and despite the arse who’d opened his door – and had undoubtedly left the love-bite on James’ neck, the one inexpertly covered by a damp towel, which almost certainly hid more – James was clearly still unmated. “James,” Robbie choked a little, staring at his sergeant like he’d never seen him before – and, if he was honest, he felt like he hadn’t. How had he missed this? Had he been so desperate not to believe it that he’d made himself blind to it? “I- I’m interrupting.” Fall back on British reticence if all else failed. The Force had taught him that much. Politeness would do what a sense of duty couldn’t.

James didn’t seem willing to play along. His eyes had shuttered when Robbie moved away from him, and he bit his lip. Robbie had to bite back a groan. “A little, sir. I- I have to-” and without so much as a goodbye, he shut the door.

Robbie was left staring at it, feeling as though his whole world had suddenly tilted sideways.

**

James leant back against the door, and dragged a hand over his face. He had an hour or so before heat took him over again, which was long enough to obsess over this. Of all the ways for his boss to find out! Of all the ways for the man he was – yes, he could admit it – in love with to find out he was an omega, that had to be high on the top ten.

“Who was that, love?” Paul asked, pressing James against the door, already hard again – not that James could blame him, omega pheromones were hard to resist. 

“My boss. He – mmm,” Paul mouthed at his neck, clearly barely paying attention. James had become rather used to having the things he considered important about himself ignored in favour of his gender dynamic over the years. “He didn’t know I’m an omega.”

“Does now,” Paul said, clearly not interested. “You ready...?”

“No,” James said, suddenly irritable, pushing Paul off him. “Help yourself to a beer, I’m going to eat. Want something?”

“Until I started hooking up with you, I thought omega heats were the hottest sex a man could have,” Paul sniped, a little more venom in the words than James would have liked, and though he hated, _hated_ it, he had to keep Paul sweet or he’d lose the comfort of knowing there was someone who could see him through his heats. In James’ experiences, they were miserable, painful, and a downright pain in the arse, but he had at least come to terms with them enough not to make himself suffer through them for the sake of suffering.

He needed Paul. There were plenty of people willing – desperate, even – to see an omega through their heat, but none of them were willing to take ‘no’ for an answer when it came to mating, and James wasn’t even going to try that nonsense.

“Sorry,” he said, forcing a smile. Lewis would have seen through it in a flash, he thought miserably to himself. “It was a shock, is all.” He leant over and kissed Paul, letting Paul deepen it as he wanted. If Paul wanted sex now, he could have it; god only knew James stopped caring by day three. It was a need, not a want, and since he didn’t really want Paul – or anyone, barring one person – it was a need he had to deal with as practically as possible until it went away.

It was like hunger, he thought absently, letting Paul shove him against the wall, more than half of his mind elsewhere. When you were really hungry, it didn’t matter what you ate, so long as it was food.

So he let Paul fuck him, because that was what Paul wanted and James needed Paul for the moment. 

And if he couldn’t help thinking of someone else, he didn’t have to tell. _This, too, shall pass_ , he thought grimly, and hung on for the ride. In an hour or so, he’d really want it again.

**

Robbie’s first instinct was to get drunk and pretend it never happened. God only knew that James probably would. His second was to ring Laura, but James had hidden this from everyone for years, and he wouldn’t thank Robbie for blowing his secret because he got freaked out. No, he’d have to deal with this by himself.

The question was, how? How did he deal with the fact that James, _his James_ , was an omega? Robbie had nothing against omegas, never had – mostly he felt sorry for the poor beggars, cooped up and shown off like show-ponies, but it was a different thing entirely to have his sergeant be one of the people over half the world went nuts over. 

But James was still _James_ , he reasoned. Nothing could change that, nothing could stop him from being Sergeant Hathaway and everything he always had been, stupidly intelligent and rigidly formal and a potentially brilliant detective. And James had always been these things, no matter what other labels could be applied to him; just because Robbie knew he was an omega, nothing had to change.

And yet – no, of course the way Robbie _treated_ him wasn’t going to change, that would be ridiculous. But still – things would have to change a little. What if something happened to Hathaway? What if- but Robbie cut that thought off, shaking his head. If something happened to Hathaway, it would be reported as any other injury in the line of work. The only person at the station who knew Hathaway’s dynamic was Robbie himself – and maybe Innocent, but Robbie wouldn’t have bet money on it. There’d be no headlines, no damning news reports. The whole world thought Sergeant James Hathaway was a beta, and until Robbie had come across him just now, he’d been convinced of it too. So convinced, in fact, that he’d ignored the evidence of his eyes and nose just a couple of days before. 

So if James got treated differently, it would be Robbie’s fault. And hadn’t he just been cross over how omegas let themselves be wrapped in cotton wool? James clearly didn’t want that, and it would be a crying shame if he did. Robbie wasn’t going to let this ruin everything he knew about his sergeant. 

It was sad, though, he thought absently, pulling into his driveway with little to no memory of the drive home, that James would never have the comfort of a mate without a whole ball of strings attached. James didn’t want people knowing what he was – how could he ever find a mate if he couldn’t trust anyone to know that? He hadn’t even trusted Robbie.

He unlocked the door of his flat with a heavy sigh, right as his phone beeped with a text message. From James, of all people.

“if you need to talk talk to dr hobson i dont mind”, it read, a far cry from James’ usual punctiliously spelt, grammatically correct texts.

“you sure?” Lewis sent back laboriously, but his phone didn’t reply. The text – and lack of a reply – rammed home the point: James, his sergeant, James, was an omega, and in heat. It beggared belief.

Yes, he needed someone to talk to, and he had a kind of permission, even if it was less certain than he’d like. He rang Laura.

**

“I thought you’d be celebrating with your dishy sergeant,” Laura said, handing him a beer with a smile. “That’s what you two do, isn’t it? Buy each other entirely platonic drinks and hold a meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society whenever you solve a case?”

“Well – yeah,” Robbie agreed. “I got so used to that, I went over to his tonight. S’what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Finally meet James’ omega?” Laura asked, amused. “What’s he or she like?”

Robbie took a long pull of his drink. “Got the wrong end of the stick there,” he admitted awkwardly. Laura raised an eyebrow. “It’s not James’ partner who’s an omega,” he said significantly, and Laura paused, frowned – and then her eyebrows lifted.

“ _James_?” She asked, eyes wide. “James Hathaway, an omega?”

“Yep,” he nodded, frowning to himself. “I just can’t get me head round it.”

“Explains why he was so antsy at Crevecoeur, though, doesn’t it?” Laura pointed out, sipping her own drink. “They must have known what he was, if he was there till he was twelve. Omegas present early.” Robbie stared at her, suddenly horrified, and could see exactly when she made the connection. “Oh, god, Robbie,” she said softly.

“Well, if I wondered why he kept it so quiet, I know now,” Robbie said grimly. “After being preyed on by a monster, who wouldn’t keep it on the down-low? Bloody, _bloody_ hell.”

“We don’t know-” Laura started, but Robbie shook his head angrily, pushing himself out of his chair and pacing restlessly.

“Mortmaigne liked children, no matter what kind of child,” he said, dragging one hand through his hair. “Say James presented at ten years old. Are you telling me Mortmaigne wouldn’t have taken full advantage, even of his preliminary heats?”

“I’m telling you not to jump to conclusions,” Laura said smartly. “You need to talk to James about this.”

“When? He’s gonna avoid me whenever he can now – I really bollocksed it up, Laura, you’ve no idea. I just – froze. And you know what he’s like, he’ll be jumping to all kind of conclusions himself.”

“From what we both noticed, he was beginning his heat on Saturday morning, wasn’t he?” Laura said reasonably, clearly trying to be calm for him. “So he should be coming out of it by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. He’ll still be at home, you can go round and talk to him.”

“How do I do that without making the lad feel cornered?” Robbie asked, pausing in his pacing for a moment.

“Treat him the same way you always have,” Laura said encouragingly. “He’s still James. And we suspected that Mortmaigne had probably abused him, but we didn’t have any proof, and we _still don’t_ , Robbie, remember that. Until you hear it from James, it’s conjecture, so don’t make that the be-all and end-all. James is an omega, that’s all you’re dealing with here, and that doesn’t have to be a big deal. I think you might be blowing it out of proportion.”

Robbie sank back into his chair and sighed. “Yeah,” he half-sighed, half-groaned. “I don’t think Innocent knows, though. What if James has to resign from the force? I told him and I’ll tell him again, I’m too old to be training up anyone new. I can’t be doing with it.”

“They can’t fire him for being an omega,” Laura pointed out briskly. “And it wouldn’t surprise me if he was never registered as an omega. You know as well as I do that it’s not unusual for parents, strictly religious parents, to misregister their children in case of – what’s the phrase? Temptations to lust?”

“And I’ll bet my back teeth James’s parents are ‘strictly religious’,” Robbie agreed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Ah, the lad’s all screwed up in his head, I don’t even know where to begin.”  
“Wherever he considers ‘the beginning’ – and then move on,” Laura said with a rather weak smile. “You start the conversation, let him decide where it goes.”

“What would I do without you?” Robbie asked, managing a pathetic smile of his own.

“At a guess? Miss out on the second love of your life. Which would be a crying shame, Robbie. Most of us don’t even get one.”

**  
Having decided on a course of action, Robbie had never been one to sit on his laurels and he texted James the next morning, as soon as he felt capable of sending a decent enough text.

“hope youre alright.” He tapped out painstakingly, “When youre up to it we should talk if youve got a minute.”

James’ reply was almost immediate. “should be free around eight tonight,” he sent, and Robbie took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. 

“ill bring beer,” he replied, and put his phone down. Answers that night was better than he’d really dared hope for, and it was a relief to know they’d get to clear the air. The last thing he wanted was James to think that he, Robbie, was revolted by him or disappointed, or any of the other rubbish the lad was undoubtedly worrying about.

What James had said about the omega scent lingering was clearly true – Robbie, in the same suit as the day before, got some odd looks, and half-heard, whispered remarks followed him around the station. Most were variants on where he could have even come across an omega, let alone one clearly in heat. For most of that day, he was a figure of mixed awe and confusion, and he could only imagine how much worse it would be for James if it all came out. If James wanted the secret kept, Robbie would keep it till his dying day unless told otherwise; if James _didn’t_ want to keep the secret, then Robbie would have to think of some way to persuade him otherwise without making James feel like it was something he should be ashamed of.

Not for the first time, he cursed his reaction yesterday. If only he’d had his wits about him! Then he could have avoided all this nonsense. It was just a shame he’d found out about James when he had, fed up with the whole omega-centric culture they lived in and fed up, in particular, of the way people acted around omegas. But in the light of a new day, Robbie’s natural common sense reasserted itself – it smacked strongly of victim blaming to say that Bill McCauley’s behaviour was triggered by his mate being an omega. By the way omegas were venerated and coveted, sure, but that was no more the fault of omegas in general than it was Bill McCauley’s. Their rarity made them special – their attractiveness was an inbuilt characteristic of their dynamic. They couldn’t help it, and James clearly didn’t want it.

Robbie would just have to be as careful as possible not to give any indication of his earlier irritation as possible when he met with his sergeant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puberty in my version of an A/B/O verse! Mainly omegas, here. Again, I based it on women - girls often get their period between 11 and 12 years old, but no one would consider a twelve year old girl sexually mature. Since heats work a little differently (and to be blunt, I needed some way for James to have known young), 'preliminary' heats seem like the way forward! They're without the drive of a sexually mature, adult heat - they're a fraction of the intensity, and lead more to feeling uncomfortable and out of sorts than anything else - they're preparation for the real thing, rather than the real thing itself. Adult heats kick in around about sixteen/seventeen for most omegas.
> 
> Any questions, feel free to get in touch!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos/comments - I'm really glad people are enjoying it! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of child abuse in this one, in keeping with the episode, _Dead of Winter_. So, discussions of sexual abuse. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay - I've had three essays due in the last four days, so the last two weeks have been fairly vile. (Am v. sleep deprived also, so please excuse any glaring errors!) I can't promise a regular update schedule, but I can hope that it's not too long between chapters!

James’ flat, when Robbie went round, smelt of nothing so much as strong cleaning fluids – the intoxicating heat-scent was barely present, heavily overlaid by bleach. The entire place had been scrubbed, including Hathaway himself, who smelt like a beta again, and was buttoned up in one of his usual shirts.

“Come in, sir,” he said, shifting awkwardly as he held the door open for Robbie. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine, James,” Robbie said, hoping to put his sergeant at ease. “And cut the sir, lad, I’m not here as your boss.”

James’ expression froze a little, but he nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with two teas, one made just as Robbie liked it. He seemed to have steeled himself, because the first words out of his mouth were, “are you ever going to be here as my boss again, then?”

Robbie frowned, taken aback. “Of course I am, ye daft sod. What, did you think I’d come all this way just to fire ye?” He shook his head. “For one, it’s illegal, and for two, I don’t like to think of meself as a coward, but I’d’ve been cowardly about that, alright. I’d’ve done it over the phone.”

Hathaway smiled, just a little. “I’d still’ve quoted chapter and verse of the law at you if you’d tried,” he said, and Robbie grinned, relieved.

“I don’t doubt it. No, look, all I wanted to do was – get some things out in the open. Clear the air, like, before you’re back at work – didn’t want this hanging over us.” He could see James dithering as to where to begin, so he jumped it. “Let’s start with the basics: it’s not in your file?”

“No – my parents registered me as a beta when I was eleven,” James said, eyes focused on the mug cupped in his hands. 

“Why was that, then?”

James gave him a strangely arrested look. “Just – they didn’t want – questions.” He paused, glanced at Robbie – who was waiting patiently – and shook his head. “No, that’s not true,” he said finally, after a long pause. “I suppose I owe _you_ , at least, the truth. They registered me as a beta because his lordship told them too.”

Robbie took a deep breath – this was getting down to brass tacks with a vengeance. “I thought it might’ve been that. Did he...?”

“Not like the others,” James said quietly. “Being an omega was a blessing and a curse. He just liked to look at me. Fully clothed and everything, nothing untoward, but – even as a kid, I knew. I knew what he thought about us, I knew what his ‘special sessions’ with Paul were all about, we all did. Except Scarlett, maybe. Him looking at me, that was-” he broke off and scratched at the back of his head, cradling his mug one-handed. “I don’t doubt it was better than what Paul went through, but it was _all the time_. It felt like he never stopped, he liked having me near him _all the time_.”

Lewis couldn’t suppress a shudder. The idea of his James kept near that monster, on a razor-edge between being abused and being kept on his pedestal of purity, made the tea curdle in his stomach. “I can’t imagine,” he said quietly.

“No,” James agreed simply, “you can’t. The school psychiatrist I went to see about it couldn’t either. I – I didn’t tell her about the other children, I couldn’t. I was thirteen, I didn’t have the words for it, so I – told her about his lordship wanting me around all the time, staring at me all the time. But I was a beta as far as she was concerned, and she didn’t know about his – habits. She told me it sounded ‘grandfatherly’. Like he wanted to – be close to me. She thought it was _sweet_.”

“So you found a refuge in the Church,” Lewis finished for him quietly, and James nodded. 

“It helped in more ways than one,” he said, a little bitterly. “My parents registered me as a beta because his lordship thought, if I was registered as an omega, there’d be attention all the time, I’d get taken away that much sooner. But when my mum finally persuaded my father to move us elsewhere – and he didn’t want to, not the way his lordship favoured us – she wanted to register me properly, as an omega. He was all for it, too – get me mated to someone rich, keep him in the lap of luxury. I told them I wanted to go into the Church – it was the only way to stop them re-registering me. Since I’d be celibate, it didn’t matter, and it was about the only thing I ever did that they approved of.”

“Did your parents know about Mortmaigne?” Robbie asked carefully, and James shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe. I never asked. Never wanted to know, to be honest.”

“That I really _can_ understand,” Robbie said.

“I didn’t want to be an omega,” he said, matter-of-factly, but Robbie wasn’t a detective inspector for nothing; he could hear the bitterness and the fear under the words. “Being an omega never meant anything good for me. I hid my heats at school – they were only prelims, mostly, and they've got beta-scented shower gel in Boots – and I hated the way it made his lordship look at me, so being a beta suited me just fine. And then in the Force, well. They wouldn’t have taken me if they’d known. They’d have pretended it was because of anything else, but we’d all have known it was because of the ‘O’ on my driving licence.”

“And we’d have missed out on a damn good detective,” Robbie said, aiming for bonhomie. It worked a little, raising a half-smile from James, who seemed lost in contemplation.

Finally he roused himself. “I should tell the Chief-Super,” he said, and Robbie nodded. 

“Probably a good idea. She’ll help, you know. She won’t kick you out now, I have it on good authority that we’re her golden boys.”

“Might this ‘good authority’ be the knowledgeable Dr. Hobson?” James asked, the half-smile growing into a lopsided grin.

“Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies,” Robbie said, but grinned back. “Aye, it might. She’s not normally wrong where Innocent’s concerned.”

“True, that,” James nodded, tipping his mug at him in a mock-toast, and Robbie paused before asking another question.

“Tell me if it’s none of my business, but – having prelim heats, all through school. That’s not normal, is it?”

“It’s none of your business,” James said promptly, but relented immediately. “No, it’s not. But I didn’t know that, did I? And there was no one I could ask. The only other person who knew – apart from my parents and his lordship – was the psychiatrist the Chief Super referred me to after Crevecoeur, and that was about ten years too late. She said it looked like I’d been – like the stress I’d been under when I first presented had stunted my development.”

“Is that why you only take leave every three months?”

James nodded, flushing a little. “Only way to have a proper heat, is to let the hormone build up with the suppressants.” He shrugged. “I can’t say I enjoy it, but I stopped arguing with biology when I left the seminar.”

“Can’t imagine they were too keen on biologically mandated sex,” Lewis agreed, and James snorted into his tea.

“You have a real gift for understatement, sir – Robbie,” he said sweetly. “But you’re right. I was training to be a priest, with the vow of celibacy, and all that. In a way, weak half-heats were a blessing; but it felt almost – right, to suffer through them.” He looked at Robbie for a moment, then away again. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said apologetically, and Robbie offered him an encouraging smile.

“Y’don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But I’m not going anywhere, if y’do.”

James shut his eyes for a minute, then nodded decisively. “If I’d not been an omega, then I’d have gone through what Paul and poor bloody Briony went through, and I’m not saying I wanted that, but sometimes I felt like it might have been easier to deal with – and I wouldn’t have to feel guilty for being exempt when the other kids, like Paul, had to suffer through it. And sex always felt – I always felt that sex would be, I don’t know, wrong too, somehow. It felt right to suffer through my heats, because it felt like I was doing penance for needing sex by not having sex.”

“I s’pose there’s a kind of poetic justice to it,” Lewis said dubiously. “Not healthy, mind, but poetic.”

“Since when has poetry been healthy? Just look at Keats,” James shot back, a glimmer of his usual self under there, and Robbie laughed a little harder than the joke warranted.

“But you’ve – got over that, now?” he said, just to be clear, and James shrugged, but nodded. “Hence your friend, the alpha.”

“Such scorn, sir,” James said, half-joking, and Robbie pulled a face. “Yes, hence Paul. He helps me through them.”

Something primal in Robbie snarled at that, but he had a great deal of experience not listening to that bit of him – it was something police officers either had trained out of them or trained out of themselves. It did no one any good to listen to it. 

Still, it wasn’t pleasant to know that the man apparently the ‘whole CID’ knew he was in love with was turning elsewhere for help during his heats. 

Not that he, Robbie, would be up for it, he thought ruefully. Being an alpha didn’t necessarily make up for being twenty-odd years older than his sergeant. 

“And it’s – good? It’s alright?” He really wanted to ask whether Paul was alright, wanted to make sure that James was being treated properly, like he deserved, but that sounded intrusive even in his own head. “You’re alright?”

“It’s what needs doing,” James shrugged. “I don’t have to like it. I need it.”

That didn’t sound like James was being treated properly, _or_ like he had really dealt with the trauma he’d been dealt, but Robbie couldn’t think of a way to counteract that. He certainly couldn’t think of a way to offer to help without sounding as inappropriate as he felt. He _wanted_ to help James through his heats – he wanted James, full-stop, he was man enough to admit it. But that wasn’t something he could say to James.

Instead, he smiled. “If he ever steps outta line, Sergeant, I hope you know where to come.”

“Talk me down, will you?” James said, with a smile. “Stop me murdering him?”

“You might have to talk me down, if he treats you wrong,” Robbie told him solemnly. “But eighteen years as a copper’s shown me some great places to hide bodies.”

“Well,” James paused, then held up his mug. “To the perfect potential crime, then.”

“For once in a way, I’ll drink to that,” Robbie nodded, clinking his tea against James’. In the privacy of his own head, he made a different promise: to looking after James Hathaway, even when the daft sod didn’t know.

**

James was tentatively optimistic when he went to see Innocent on Monday. Robbie – or, at work, Lewis – had taken it so well, had offered so much intelligent understanding, that he felt buoyed by that kind of acceptance. It wasn’t a kind he’d ever had before, and he relished it more than he knew how to explain, even to himself.

That said, he was, he felt, justifiably nervous about outing himself to his boss. Even though Innocent, brusque and practical though she might often be - as most female alphas in command tended to be - had never been anything other than diligently interested in her staff’s welfare, James couldn’t help but be wary. He’d never told anyone he hadn’t strictly speaking had to, and he knew all too well how omegas could be treated in the workplace.

It didn’t help that most omegas never made it to the workplace. Still, he thought he’d proved himself enough over the last few years under Innocent that she’d think twice about tactfully asking him to leave.

“You wanted to see me, Sergeant?” she said, fixing him with a long look before offering him a chair.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, sitting and swallowing hard. “I have something to tell you.”

“If you and Lewis have finally pulled yourself together, let me warn you that we are both better off if I can claim plausible deniability,” she said warningly, and he frowned, wondering what that meant, before shaking his head.

“No, ma’am. It’s about my gender dynamic.”

It was Innocent’s turn to frown. “What about it?” She asked warily.

“I was misregistered as a child,” James said, deciding the better part of valour was brevity. “I’m an omega, ma’am.”

Innocent didn’t react right away. Instead, she paused, lacing her hands together in front of her on the desk, and took a deep breath. “I see. Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Inspector Lewis found out during my leave last week. I thought you should know.”

“Well, I agree with you entirely there, but I think this conversation would have been better taking place about three years ago, Sergeant.”

“Can you honestly tell me you would have employed me if you’d known?” James asked, daring to go on the offensive and pressing on before she could answer. “And can you tell me now, having employed me for the last three years, that I can’t do the job I was hired to do?”

“You can certainly do your job, I will give you that, Sergeant,” she said, and sighed. “But I can’t tell you I wouldn’t have preferred it if you _had_ been a beta. I’m assuming this isn’t a courtesy warning before you re-register yourself? Because if that’s the case, I would strongly advise you against doing so.”

“No, ma’am. On paper, I’m still a beta.”

“Good. Keep it that way. None of us need the headlines.” She paused. “I’m only going to ask this once, and then I’m going to do us both a favour and pretend most of this conversation never happened, but – is this the reason for your oh-so-regular leave?”

“Yes,” Hathaway nodded. “It always coincides with-”

“I think I can guess what it coincides with, Sergeant.” She shook her head. “Apart from a natural desire to make sure we don’t make headlines for all the wrong reasons, I see no reason to change the way things have been till now. Continue to do your job, and I’ll do my best to make sure no awkward questions pose problems for us.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome,” she told him, and offered him a rare smile. “I want you to realise, Hathaway – and I will deny every saying this if asked – that all this conversation has done is given you someone else on your side. I don’t believe in discrimination, in any form.”

Hathaway took a deep, calming breath. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Go on, get out,” she said, but she smiled at him before he left, and he felt better than he had in days. Years, even.

**

The elation didn’t last, though James found there was a different kind of joy to being able to relax around people he trusted. Having Lewis, Innocent and Hobson know that he was an omega and not treat him differently felt like a wonderful privilege; but didn't it change the fact that Oxford dons and school teachers and housewives continued to murder those around them in ever more academically inventive ways. The job was never dull, but it was rarely ever comforting either. 

“Oh, for a nice, straightforward murder,” Lewis muttered, staring at the corpse of Dr. Michael Turner, whose throat had been cut with a sword.

“The murder weapon was a seventeenth-century _yatagan_ ,” James said from his shoulder, “left over there. There’s blood on it, but no fingerprints, so far as a preliminary search can tell, and we’re still waiting on finding out who could have owned such an item.”

“Does it tell us anything about the murderer?” Robbie asked, without much hope.

“Other than they recognised a sword when they saw one? No, sir. Dr. Turner was an expert on the seventeenth-century Turkey. We’ll check, of course, but it’s most likely the sword was his.”

“What’re the odds he would have had it kept sharp, though?” Lewis wondered, and James shrugged.

“Depends how determined he was to be authentic about it,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought keeping it sharpened was the best way to preserve it, but I don’t know much about the conservation of antique swords.”

“You astonish me, sergeant,” Robbie said, and James gave him a half-smile.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, sir. Naturally, I’ll be sure to read up on it tonight.”

“Want any company while you’re doing your reading?” Robbie offered, without thinking.

“I’ll let you decide what kind of takeaway you want, sir,” James said, and turned away to get down to the business of solving Dr. Turner’s murder.

Dr. Turner, it appeared, would emphatically not have kept his sword sharpened, being, fundamentally, a pacifist – whoever killed him had to have been able to remove the sword, have it sharpened, and replaced in time to kill him, which deleted the greater part of their list of suspects.

It turned out to have been a rival in the field – “I wouldn’t have thought there’d even be one,” Lewis commented wryly – who’d long since coveted Turner’s position in the academic world and the university specifically.

“Which, this being Oxford, he should have expected us to realise straight away,” Robbie pointed out over a home-cooked meal, and James snorted.

“All that effort to do it poetically when we might never have caught him if he’d just used a pen-knife,” he added, and Lewis nodded.

“I don’t get it,” he said simply. “These academic types – they get all caught up in their own cleverness that they forget the real world’s even out there.”

“The palaces of the mind are more rewarding than the bungalows of the everyday, I suppose,” James shrugged, and Robbie grinned.

“And talking of ‘poetic’, in jumps Sergeant Hathaway,” he teased gently, and James smiled.

“You’ve been plying me with alcohol, s- Robbie. I’m in a compromised state and cannot be held accountable for my actions,” he said blandly, and held out his glass for a refill.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always puzzled over why, if James knew about the abuse Mortmaigne put the other children through, he never said anything about it when the investigation was underway. I understand it when he was a child - he was likely traumatised, and his family was dependent on the Mortmaigne estate; not to mention, kids do process and react to things differently than adults. When he arrived back, though, as a police officer, that baffles me a little bit. He was clearly on edge the whole of that episode; was that confusion as to what he should do? I don't know.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, though, it was fear and confusion and not a little bit of guilt. He hiding that he was an omega at that point, and he was presumably worried that would get found out if he said anything - but more than that, he was a victim himself in an odd position, where he was repelled by what had happened and feeling guilty that he didn't suffer as much. (Also, of course, there is plausible deniability, though James wouldn't think of it like that - "knowing" something when you're a kid doesn't translate into being a reliable witness when you're an adult. He never actually _saw_ anything happen, after all.)
> 
> Anyway, that's my reasoning here. It doesn't come across as much in the fic itself, and as of this moment, I haven't got any way of bringing it all up (Robbie certainly isn't going to press the issue!), so even though it smacks a little of telling-not-showing, here is my rather garbled reasoning for it all. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who left kudos, comments, and has been reading! I'm glad people are enjoying it, thank you. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for domestic abuse (mild). Please read responsibly! I don't want to trigger anyone.
> 
> I'm sorry this has taken me so long - Real Life decided to throw an entire toolbox into the works, and I have poor time management skills. Also, we're now at the end of the pre-written bit (plus the bits added on to finish this chapter), and I have essays/job applications/a whole load of nonsense stuff going on, so I honestly don't know when the next chapter will be up; I can only promise that, despite appearances to the contrary, I really don't abandon fics.

The Turner case set the tone for the next three months of their interactions. Robbie didn’t know how, though he could guess why, but there seemed to be that much more ease in their relationship – as though, having decided to trust him, Hathaway had decided to go the whole hog and let him in, if not completely, then mostly to his life.

And the more Robbie found out, the more he liked. If he thought he’d been in love before, it was nothing to what he felt now – the James he was getting to know was still much the same, but somehow _more_ than he’d known before. It was like when he’d got to know Val – everything that had made her special on the surface went deep, right down to the bone, and finding out all her quirks, and how she thought, felt like a privilege. James was complicated, difficult in a way Val had never been, but Robbie didn’t care to compare them, and James was every bit as special. And Robbie was aware of a wish to protect and cherish James that he’d not felt with Val – but that was biology speaking, more than anything else. James wouldn’t thank him for it, he knew that much.

Still, there were times when it was difficult for Robbie not to play the overbearing alpha – he found it hard to tell James to do something which had any potential for danger, or let James take his own risks. Only the knowledge that he was being ridiculous stopped him from overstepping the boundaries.

The three months passed so fast that it was a shock when Lewis glanced at his calendar and realised James was due for leave again in a week. Innocent had been by and said something innocuous about extending paid leave to counterbalance his “family reasons” – because Lewis knew damn well that at least one out of the four weeks of leave James took a year was unpaid – which had left James tongue-tied and flushed and quietly touched, but that had been weeks ago. He hadn’t expected James’ leave to come up so _fast_.

Worse, he really didn’t know how to bring it up casually.

Finally, he just bit the bullet. “You all sorted for your leave tomorrow?”

James looked up and glanced meaningfully at the open door. “Don’t plan on leaving my flat, sir,” he said simply. “I’ve laid in provisions, got a friend coming round, and we’re just going to hole up for a bit. Nothing to get excited about.”

How was Robbie meant to unpack that? “Looking forward to it then?” he said, and James sighed, getting up to shut the door. 

“I appreciate what you’re doing, sir,” he said, tiredness and exasperation equally mixed in his tone, “but it’ll be exactly the same as it always is, and then it’s done. I don’t want to dwell on it.”

Robbie held up his hands. “OK then,” he said, a little taken aback. “Your business is your own, I get it. Just thought I’d ask.”

James sat back down, and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “Sorry, sir,” he said simply, after a half-second pause. “I just don’t like – talking about it.”

His recurring suspicion was definitely true then, Robbie thought – James _wasn’t_ comfortable with his heats, and that puppy of an alpha he had helping him through them was clearly failing to make him feel any better about them. Still, whether it was because they were at work, or because he was uncomfortable talking about it, James had clearly set the boundaries, and Robbie wasn’t going to go trampling all over them just to satisfy his curiosity.

Instead, then, he just nodded. “Alright then, we won’t,” he said, which won a smile from his sergeant. Robbie was going to count that as a victory.

**

The week that followed was made up almost entirely of dull paperwork – there wasn’t so much as a drunk and disorderly to distract Robbie from his thoughts, and even though drunk and disorderly wasn’t his division, he would have welcomed one this week.

In lieu of an investigation of any kind, Laura took on double duty of distracting him James’ absence – probably spurred on by the significant looks Robbie could see her exchanging with Innocent every so often. He didn’t mind – he was even touched by their concern – but it was still jarring to be going to the pub or sharing a takeaway with someone every night, and having that person not be James.

“Robbie,” Laura said finally, on Wednesday, barely three days after Robbie had seen James last, “I’m only going to say this once, and I expect you to listen: lovesick teenager is not a good look on a fifty five year old alpha.”

“Did y’have to bring my age into it?” Robbie said, faking a groan before sitting back. “Aye, I know. But what can I do? The lad’s skittish enough as it is, he’d run a mile if I said anything to him.”

“Well, I suppose you don’t have to worry about missing your chance, at least,” Laura mused, “since he’s not interested in mating.”

“Can you blame him?” Robbie asked, shrugging.

“Who’s blaming? No, I don’t _blame_ him, but I think it’s a shame. I think you could be good for each other.” Laura’s tone was matter-of-fact, but she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, smiling faintly.

Robbie shook his head. “Serious now, Laura,” he said heavily, “I’m not denying I’m gone over him, but do you really think I’m right for him? Personality aside, I’ve got twenty-odd years on him and when he first knew me I was still mourning Val – he’s not gonna forget that, and I’m not sure I could ever stop him feeling like he was second-best. I’m not saying it’s true, mind! But I don’t know if I could get _him_ to believe that. And I’m his boss, and an alpha – bearin’ in mind I don’t think he’s had all that much luck with alphas – and I’m more interested in making sure he’s OK than getting my leg over, so I’m not gonna go there.”

Laura paused. “Due respect, I don’t think you _can_ put ‘personality aside’,” she said firmly. “Age isn’t everything-”

“Age is enough on its own,” he retorted. “Not being morbid, but I’m not gonna outlive him, am I? What would he do when he’s left alone? He’s an awkward sod, an’ I don’t doubt he could make acquaintances if he had to, but none he’d be really comfortable with. And I couldn’t be a stop-over relationship for him, so it’s best left to itself. I’ll keep schtum, and he can find someone his own age, who’s more – appropriate for him.”

Laura shook her head. “I don’t think that’s all that likely,” she said bluntly. “Don’t get me wrong, I see where you’re coming from, but he’s not found anyone yet, has he? This alpha – Paul? – seems to be a fixture, but there’s no bells in the future, are there? Whereas the good sergeant might as well have hearts in his eyes when he looks at you. It’s very noble, what you’re saying, Robbie, but that doesn’t make it right. It’s possible to be noble in all the wrong ways, you know.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” he admitted, “but the only way it’s happening is if he makes the first move. It’s not fair on him if I do – with his history, and me bein’ his boss, I want to be sure it’s something he _wants_ , not just something he felt he had to go along with.”

Laura paused, and took a long drink. “Alright, then,” she said, smiling a little. “So you’d consider it, if he offered?”

“I’m already considering it,” Robbie pointed out. “I’m just not going to do it.”

“Well, I suppose you’re already being what he needs – a safe place,” she clarified, when he gave her a questioning glance. “And that’s what he really needs. I just hope he works up the courage to make it something more.”

“I don’t know whether to hope for it, or be afraid of it,” Robbie told her, a little gloomily, and she laughed, patting his hand.

“Lighten up,” she said brightly. “Take things one day at a time – you’re doing fine.”

**

‘Fine’ was good, Robbie thought grimly to himself, letting himself back into his flat. He wasn’t doing fine at all. Oh, fine as far as James was concerned, sure – he was careful to keep himself from making any overwhelming faux pas as related to his sergeant. But other than that, he wasn’t doing ‘fine’ in the slightest; he felt like he couldn’t even think straight, sometimes.

He’d ring Lyn, he thought. He couldn’t exactly talk it over with her, but talking to his daughter always made him feel better, on a more even keel. She was so like her mum that way, calm and encouraging, and even though it did Robbie’s ego no good to know he was treating his daughter like she was the adult in this relationship, he was at least man enough to admit that she was better with emotions and all the confusion they brought with them.

He wondered what she’d think if he told her he was in love with his sergeant, who was only a handful of years older than she was. He wondered what she’d think if he got _mated_ to an omega barely older than her.

Bridges to cross when he came to them, he thought, and went to dig his phone out of his jacket pocket.

Which was when it started ringing.

Robbie jumped, staring down at the screen – James. Why on earth...?

“Hello, lad,” he said warmly, hiding his confusion. It didn’t take a detective to know that something was wrong – James was ringing during his heat, and god only knew omegas weren’t supposed to be thinking of much beyond the bedroom during that time of month.

Still, James had practice at it, so no need to jump to conclusions yet.

The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line had him jumping to all kinds of conclusions all the same. “Sir,” James’ voice was rigidly controlled. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I. Would you–” he broke off, and Robbie took a deep breath.

“What do you need?” he asked gently, and James took an audibly deep breath.

“If it’s not too late, could you come over?” he asked, and Robbie could _hear_ the effort it took for his self-contained sergeant to ask for a favour.

“O’ course,” he said immediately. “Gimme twenty minutes, and I’ll be at yours.” He paused for a second. “Is there anything you need? Anything I should pick up on my way over?”

“No – no, nothing, sir,” James said carefully. “Thank you.”

“Twenty minutes, James,” Robbie said, and rang off.

He filled the journey over with all the conjectures he’d been promising himself he wouldn’t make. Medical emergency? Something wrong with James’ heat? Something wrong with Paul, god forbid? He felt like running every red light and breaking every speed limit he knew of, and the knowledge that Innocent would have his head for it only barely kept him in line. It felt like it took an age to get to James’s – but when he got there, he had to take half a minute to himself to calm down before he got out the car.

James, when he opened the door, was holding an ice pack to his eye, and it took every ounce of self-control Robbie had not to demand with menaces who could have hit him. Apart from anything, it didn’t take a genius to work it out, and the last thing James needed was his boss going Neanderthal on him. 

“A black eye?” he said quietly, shutting the door behind him, and herding James over to the sofa.

“Paul and I had a disagreement,” James said. The heat-scent in the flat was minimal – clearly whatever had happened had shocked James out of his already fragile heat. “But believe me when I tell you you should see the other guy.”

“He’s not going to come after you for assault, is he?” Robbie asked, sitting James down and heading into the kitchen to fetch him a tea – there were already two mugs sat on the counter, and the kettle, when he checked was already boiled. There were even teabags in the mugs. It was, Robbie thought, just like James to think of making tea for a visitor at a time like this.

“If he tries, he’ll find out that omegas in heat are legally considered to have diminished responsibility for violent actions under law in the Dynamic Equality Act, 1998, Section 14, and I was responding to a violent attack,” James called back, sounding a little less shocky and off-kilter than he had mere moments before.

Robbie smiled. “And you just know that, off the top of your head. Where d’you get this stuff from?”

“A misspent youth, sir,” James said, accepting the tea Robbie handed him and cradling it without drinking it. “There’s beer in the fridge from last time you were over, if you want it.”

“I’m alright with my tea, thanks,” Robbie said and sat in the armchair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “Now, what was this disagreement about, then, hey? None of your neighbours are gonna call it in as a domestic, are they? That’d just be embarrassing.”

“No, it was all very quiet,” James said, staring down into his tea. “And it was my fault.” If Robbie had a pound for every time he’d heard James blame himself for things outside his control, his retirement fund would be looking a lot more comfortable.

“Oh? Why d’y’say that, then?”

“He’s been helping me with my heats for a year, now,” James said, eyes still on his tea. “He wanted to know when I was going to stop stringing him along, and bond with him.” He shook his head. “And he thought I was joking when I said we were never going to.” He straightened, and looked at Robbie. “Some people just don’t take no for an answer, I know that – but I made it clear when we started this that it was – temporary. He said he understood.”

“Well, lad, there’s a lot of difference between thinking you understand something at the outset and not being able to accept it as things move on,” Robbie said. “When did he hit you?”

“I – laughed at him,” Jams said quietly. “When he said he could – provide for me.”

The idea of anyone trying to ‘provide’ for James was so bizarre that Robbie didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended on James’ behalf. “Provide for you, eh?” He said, badly stifling a chuckle. That James had been hit was leagues from being funny, but Paul had clearly read James so wrong as to be hilarious.

James cracked a smile. “I know,” he agreed. “I don’t know why he thought I needed it, he always comes here, after all. I’m not exactly living in poverty.”

“Or even on the breadline,” Robbie agreed. “Some people, eh?” He paused. “When you say ‘can’t take no for an answer’, you don’t think he’s going to cause trouble, do you?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “He hasn’t, while I’ve known him. He could be – acerbic, sometimes,” and who used that in everyday speech but James? “but nothing too bad. That’s why I chose him – I pegged him for someone who wouldn’t make trouble.”

“But if he does, it could out you, lad, that’s what I’m getting at,” Robbie persisted. “If he’s loitering with intent around here and you report it, your dynamic’s gonna get out one way or t’other.”

James frowned. “I can always not report it,” he said doubtfully. “Deal with it by myself.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but over my dead body,” Robbie told him firmly. “And don’t get uppity, I’d say that to anyone who thought they could deal with a stalker by themselves.”

“Well, what do you suggest I do?” James demanded. He’d taken the icepack away from his eye, and the bruise was starting to appear now – Robbie couldn’t look at it. He’d been brought up, like most other people his age, to believe that hitting omegas was the lowest of the low, but even so, the thought of someone laying hands on James made his blood boil. “If he does make trouble – and I’m not saying he will – I can’t out myself to the Force in general, not now.”

“If I have to choose between your safety and your secret, you know which I’m gonna pick, James,” Robbie told him firmly, and James frowned again.

“How would you know?” he asked, not unkindly, but Robbie felt it like a punch to the gut.

“Give over, years working wi’ you, and you think I wouldn’t know when something’s eating at you?” he said, trying to play it off. “And you called me over here, I’ll be watching out for it, now.”

James was still frowning. “I shouldn’t have rung you,” he said, and Robbie shook his head.

“Nonsense, you did good,” he said matter-of-factly. “Now there’s two of us. Let’s not go crossing bridges we haven’t got to, eh? Focus on the here and now. How’re you feeling?”

James shrugged. “Not like I’m in heat, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, rather glumly, and Robbie shook his head.

“Not what I was asking at all, actually,” he countered. “How’s the eye?”

“I’m going to have a shiner,” James said, and shrugged. “I’ll live.”

“And emotionally?”

James turned and looked at him for a long moment. “Like I got hit, mid-heat, by someone I thought I could trust,” he said carefully, and again, Robbie felt like _he’d_ been hit. 

“If you’ve got an address for this Paul bloke, and a balaclava, maybe I should pop round to his place and see about teaching him some bloody manners,” he said calmly. 

It startled a laugh out of James, which was a definite point to him, even if it hadn’t been what was intended. “I don’t think the cavalry needs to go charging in just yet, thanks, sir,” James said, still smiling faintly. “And it’s not like my honour needs protecting.”

“It wasn’t your honour I was wanting to protect,” Robbie retorted, then shook his head. That was a bit obvious, wasn’t it? He’d just have to hope that James was out of it enough not to pick up on it.

From the look on James’ face, he wasn’t, but he didn’t mention it, which was something. Robbie wasn’t clear on whether it was a good or a bad something, but it was still something. “Well, either way, I won’t take you up on your offer,” he said simply. “I don’t think I’d be all that good at playing the omega in distress.”

“No need for it, either,” Robbie agreed bracingly. “Big strong lad like you? I should be getting you protect me.”

“Just give me the nod when you need it, sir,” James agreed, a smile back on his face. “I’ll be happy to help.”

Robbie grinned back, relieved that James was smiling at all. “I should think so, too,” he agreed, and James snorted into his tea. “Seriously now, though, if you want to press charges, y’shouldn’t be put off by thinking people’ll find out about you.”

James shook his head. “I don’t want to press charges, though,” he said, the smile disappearing. Robbie could have kicked himself. “And even if I did, there’s every likelihood that it wouldn’t end well for me – if people don’t find out, there’s enough judges out there who think omegas ask for it if they don’t do as they’re told.”

“Where did you hear that?!” Robbie demanded, shocked, and James shook his head.

“Common knowledge, sir,” he said, a mulish set to his mouth, and Robbie frowned.

“It’s a clear-cut case of assault, lad-”

“Where the defendant is an alpha and the plaintiff, an omega in heat,” James retorted. “Most people already think we’re not reliable witnesses-”

“And any judge who said so’d be debarred,” Robbie argued. “And cut the sir, I’ve told you.”

James’ expression was set. “Me being a beta is easier for everyone,” he said, “so I’m not going to press charges. And if Paul does, he’s got to admit to hitting an omega in heat, and even if everyone does think that we’re unreliable and useless outside the bedroom, that’s still got a stigma.”

Robbie sat back with a sigh. “It’s true,” he agreed, after a bare second’s pause. “Everything you’re saying’s true, I just – I don’t like that you’re – defenceless, here.”

“I’m not defenceless, s-Robbie,” James said sharply. “I saw him off. Just because I’m an omega-”

“We’ve been over this, James,” Robbie said tiredly. “That’s no’ what I’m saying, I put it all wrong – I’m saying you’re – without proper recourse to the law, and that’s damned unfair, lad, no matter how you cut it.”

James visibly deflated. “I know,” he agreed, looking down into his tea. “But since when has life been fair?”

**

And wasn’t that just a kicker, Robbie thought, hours later, tucked uncomfortably onto James’ couch despite his sergeant’s insistence that Robbie should have the bed. As far as James Hathaway was concerned, life really _was_ damned unfair, no two ways about it. James couldn’t get mated, couldn’t do his job without being worried that he’d get outed, half the time he couldn’t even press charges if he needed to. Oh, nine times out of ten, no questions would be asked – he was a beta in the eyes of the law and in most circumstances that would be it, but times like now, when the lad could actually do with some protection... The way Robbie saw it, life had dealt James a bad hand, and then cheated him anyway, after stacking the deck against him for good measure.

Hell, he really _was_ exhausted, if he was thinking in metaphors – exhausted, and spending too much time with one James Hathaway. Still, nowt to be done about it; Robbie wouldn’t pass up spending time with his sergeant for the world.

And on that somewhat destabilising thought, he let himself slip into sleep.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell that I am writing for a British show based on just how much tea the characters consume. Just sayin'.


End file.
